


Zero Sum

by thepurplewombat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Walking Dead (TV), World War Z - Max Brooks
Genre: AU after OotP, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Undead, Zombies, also filled with opinions about magic, and hermione's weird family, ask anyone, fighting the living dead is terribly romantic, its true, not HBP-compatible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepurplewombat/pseuds/thepurplewombat
Summary: It's the summer after her fifth year, and Hermione Granger is concerned. The news is getting more violent every day, and the Order doesn't seem to be noticing. When she brings her concerns to Professor Snape, a series of unfortunate events see them on the road to Hogwarts dodging undead hordes, dangerous madmen, and Severus' incredibly bad luck. Can they survive the zombie apocalypse and each other?





	1. Rumblings

**Author's Note:**

> My summary is shit. BUT ANYWAY, here it is, a zombie story set in the HP universe.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy my venture into crossover fiction. You'll notice that I've added both TWD and WWZ - this is because my personal headcanon is that TWD is basically a microcosm of WWZ. After all, they make use of almost identical zombie archetypes with the difference that TWD's walkers decay and WWZ's zombies don't.

Hermione was having a pretty decent summer. It wasn’t the best summer ever – that was fourth year, when it had been such a bloody _relief_ to get away from Harry’s pale face and the whispering muttering worried atmosphere of the school – but it definitely wasn’t the worst either (second year, when she’d been afraid to go to sleep for months after the incident with the basilisk, and had spent the holidays pale and wan and tired in her room.)

No, the summer after fifth year was decent, despite Sirius and the lingering ache from her scar, and the occasional screaming nightmare where she was _convinced_ that her ribcage was still gaping open like an anatomy display. Her mum was doing her usual hinting about how much the family would adore it if she would come home to stay after Hogwarts. The family needed her, Mum said. Think of all the research that was waiting for her – all the research only Hermione could do! Hermione had politely declined and mentioned that she hoped to win an apprenticeship, and had continued to politely decline for the next three weeks. The family could have her over the summer, and over weekends during her apprenticeship, but she was going to learn everything she possibly could in the outside world before burying herself in the family’s neverending research, and hadn’t the Pater approved this plan? It took several pointed hints about the Aunties overstepping in their eagerness to have her home for good to make her mother back off, but this was par for the course. All in all, quite ordinary.

However.

There was _something_. She wasn’t exactly sure what that _something_ was, but…was the news a little more violent every day? How many mysterious and vicious attacks could there really be over a single summer? It got so bad that on the second Wednesday of the holiday, she took the train to London and the Tube as close to Grimmauld Place as she could get, her backpack full of newspapers. Her da had pulled a few strings when she’d expressed concern, and had presented her with a file full of autopsy reports. He didn’t tell her where he’d gotten them, and she didn’t ask.

Number Twelve appeared between Eleven and Thirteen and she stepped inside, glancing about at the entry hall as she entered. The house was silent. Was Number Twelve even the headquarters of the Order anymore? She despised the secrecy that kept the members of the Order – and those who were not members, but should be, like her and Harry and Ron – fumbling in the dark day after day, not knowing what was happening and just doing the best they could. The signs of recent occupation – a book here, the remains of breakfast in the kitchen, a cloak hung over the back of a chair – reassured her that at least she was in the right place. Probably.

She eventually found signs of life in the library. Professor Snape had his boots on an antique Black coffee table and appeared to be engrossed in a book. He lowered the book as she stepped into the room, raising an eyebrow at her. Hermione fought the urge to step back into the shadows of the hallway. The Professor had always been less grumpy with her when she wasn’t around the boys, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t grumpy at all, and Hermione was a little too stressed what with the cannibals and everything, to feel entirely secure dealing with a grumpy Potions Master as well.

“Miss Granger,” he said. “I was not aware that you were expected.”

“I’m not – I mean, I wasn’t expected, sir. But I need to-“

He regarded her silently, raising an eyebrow, and Hermione screwed her courage to the sticking place and went for it.

“Sir, has _he_ been up to anything specific regarding Muggles lately?”

Professor Snape shot to his feet, glaring at her, and Hermione rushed to explain.

“I don’t – I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, sir,” she said carefully. “It’s just that there seems to be something very strange going on, and if it’s _him_ and the Order is aware of it I’d quite like to be able to reassure my parents.”

“Explain,” he snarled, looking down his long nose at her. Hermione sucked in a deep breath, unhitched the backpack, and knelt by the coffee table. After a long moment, Professor Snape sat down, still glaring.

“It started small, sir,” she said, dragging out the folder. “An attack here and there – one, maybe two people. They go berserk, and attack. See?” She pointed out the first report she’d noticed, from a few weeks before she’d come home. “And then…” she flipped forward to the article about the crazed mob of twelve individuals who had broken into an old folks’ home – literally broken, the police said the attackers had beaten down the doors and climbed straight through the windows – in Sussex. The old people had been _eaten_ , the report didn’t say (but her mother’s friends _did_ say, and of the two, Hermione knew who she believed).

Professor Snape took the page from her and sat back, reading it with a ferocious scowl on his face.

“You have more,” he said flatly. “Give it here.”

She handed him the folder of autopsy reports and watched him flip through them, his long thin fingers flicking quickly from page to page. When he was done, he looked up at her.

“This is not the Dark Lord’s work,” he said, and shot to his feet to pace in front of the fireplace. Hermione stayed where she was, watching him.

“Are you sure, sir?”

He waved a hand dismissively.

“It’s not his…style, Miss Granger. Believe me, if this had been his work, I would have known about it. He would have been unable to refrain from shouting it from the rooftops. Summarise the rest of your folder, if you will. Do the Muggle authorities have an explanation?”

Hermione shrugged and gave him a brief summary of her data. It wasn’t all that much, to be honest. The perpetrators seemed to be almost impervious to physical pain, and attacked without discrimination. No weapons, but they almost always tried to bite – they never hit, and they seemed to be uncoordinated, but their grip, according to a police officer who’d managed to dislodge (and accidentally kill, but the reports all agreed that it was most definitely self-defence) an attacker by bashing him over the head with a section of pipe, was immensely strong.

“The police at the scene told the media it’s probably rabies, but Mum says really they don’t have a fucking clue, and Dad says everyone’s running around like headless chickens.”

“Language, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape murmured, but he looked amused, so Hermione continued.

“When it started it was one attack a week but now it’s almost daily, and the numbers are getting larger. I thought perhaps Inferi, but the autopsy results…Dad says they’re looking to get him a specimen to examine, probably this week sometime. If it’s magical I want to warn him beforehand, but if it’s not, he’ll have more information for me then.” She looked up from her files to find Professor Snape watching her, a strange expression on his face. “If it’s not…the Dark Lord, sir, I don’t know what it is.”

“We have ruled out the Dark Lord,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t put something like this past Bellatrix, if she had the skill. Sadly, Azkaban has not done wonders for her magical prowess. No, Miss Granger, you are looking for the enemy in the wrong place.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said. “Could you look into it, sir? The _Prophet_ isn’t exactly reliable, and I don’t know if any wizarding communities have been affected by this…whatever it is.”

He inclined his head.

“And you will persuade your father to allow me to attend the examination.”

Hermione sat up straight.

“I think I can do that, sir,” she said. “I can reassure my father you won’t fry his equipment, right? Only most wizards…”

Professor Snape sneered impressively.

“I am not a Weasley, Miss Granger,” he said. “I am fully capable of controlling my magic enough to coexist with electronics. Now get out. Leave the files.”

Hermione stacked the files on the coffee table, rifled through her backpack for enough change for the fare home, and smiled up at him.

“Thank you for taking me seriously, sir,” she said. “I’ll let you know about the examination.”

She was almost at the door of the library when he spoke again.

“Granger. Stop.”

She turned, to find him on his feet again.

“How are you getting home?”

“Tube, sir, then train. I don’t have my Apparition license yet.”

Hermione was surprised to see the professor pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like ‘give me strength’. Less surprised when he glared at her ferociously. This was clearly Glare No.18 – Why Am I Surrounded By Idiots.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve been wandering around on _your own_? You stupid, stupid girl! Have you no-“

“I’m sorry, sir,” she interrupted as quietly, but firmly as she could, and was mildly amused when he fell silent, apparently from pure shock – she didn’t imagine many people dared to interrupt him. “I thought it was important. _You_ clearly think it’s important. I don’t have an owl, I can’t apparate, and I couldn’t send a Patronus from a Muggle residence. How would you like me to have made the Order aware of the situation?”

Ah, and there it was, Filthy Look No.10 – You Have A Point But I’ll Be Buggered Before I Admit It.

“I’ll apparate you home, Miss Granger. Come here.”

He held out his arm in a strangely courtly gesture, and Hermione laid her hand on top of it.

“Hold on,” he said, and she clenched her hand in his sleeve and then the swirling vortex of apparition took her. A moment later they were somewhere else and Hermione staggered to her knees, fighting the urge to throw up.

“Ugh, side-along is _awful_ ,” she muttered, and looked up. They were standing in her parents’ back garden, Professor Snape looking singularly out of place against her mother’s bright flowerbeds. Her mother finished pulling a weed and stood, cocking her head at Hermione.

“I thought you were taking the train back, darling,” she said.

“Professor Snape thought it would be safer to apparate,” Hermione said. “Professor, this is my mother, Jean. Mum, this is Professor Snape from Hogwarts. I’ve let him have a look at the file – he says it’s not the Dark Lord. He’d like to go with Daddy to look at the specimen when it comes in.”

Hermione’s mother tilted her head and eyed Professor Snape curiously. He stood statue-still, returning her gaze. Hermione felt, for a moment, as though a tumbleweed was about to blow through the pretty little suburban garden.

Then her mum smiled, pulled off the glove, and offered Professor Snape her hand with an impish grin.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Professor, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Professor Snape shook her hand and looked impassive, but nodded when she asked if he’d like a cuppa, since Hermione’s dad would be home shortly.

“I’ll get it,” Hermione said, and led the way into the kitchen.

“So, Professor,” Jean Granger said as Hermione put the kettle on. “I have to ask. Do you think them up beforehand, or are your insults spontaneous? Roger and I have been debating about this since Hermione sent home her first letter from Hogwarts, and-“

“Mum!” Hermione exclaimed, turning around with a mug in each hand. Her mother laughed and flapped a hand, while Professor Snape eyed them both incredulously.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Oh, Hermione sends us a sort of Best of Professor Snape every week. It’s our favourite part of her letters, to be honest – can’t comment much about Arithmancy and my opinion of those friends of hers really can’t be shared in polite society, but I’ve always enjoyed a good insult and you, sir, are a master.”

Hermione decided that discretion was the better part of valour and turned away to hide her flaming face, busying herself with the tea things.

“You don’t like Potter and Weasley?” Professor Snape asked after a long silence.

“Well, young Harry sounds like a nice enough boy,” Jean said, “but I’m afraid the shine rather went off them for me after the whole thing with the rats and the brooms.”

“That would have been…third year, I think?” Professor Snape asked. “When Potter was sent the Firebolt and she insisted on having it checked.” He chuckled. “I remember the incident, Professor McGonagall was thoroughly impressed with your daughter’s good sense. And the rat…Miss Granger, what was the story about the rat? I’m afraid staff room gossip never did quite clarify the situation.”

Hermione found the situation entirely surreal. Professor Snape was in her kitchen, politely making conversation with her mum.

“My cat tried to eat Ron’s rat,” she said as she set their tea in front of them. “Of course, Ron’s rat turned out to be that odious little twerp Wormtail, so it would have been better if Crooks _had_ eaten him, but he hadn’t.”

“A cat of good sense, then, and do inform your cat that he has my blessing to eat Wormtail if he comes across him again.” Professor Snape said, and smirked. A moment later the front door opened, and Hermione’s dad came in, smiling at everyone.

Introductions were made, as was more tea, and a few minutes later Roger Granger was seated at the table too, looking curiously at Professor Snape.

“Your daughter brought me some interesting information today, Mr. Granger,” Professor Snape said. “She also mentioned that you might be able to obtain a specimen. Would it be possible to be present at the examination?”

“She thought it might be something to do with your lot,” Hermione’s dad said. “I was going to have her come in and see if she could figure out anything, but if you’re willing, I’d be delighted!”

“I can still come, though, right, Daddy?” Hermione asked urgently, and her father took a slow sip of his tea.

“I’ve already told the Aunties you’d be there, Hermione. I’m reasonably sure that if I show up without you they’d have me actually shot. Now, Professor Snape, we’re expecting the specimen to be delivered tonight. Would tomorrow morning be convenient for you?”

The professor agreed, times were set, and then he insisted that Hermione walk him out. Once they were out of earshot of her parents, Professor Snape fixed Hermione with a scowl.

“I distinctly remember Professor McGonagall telling the staff room that your parents are _dentists_ , Miss Granger. Those people are _not_ dentists.”

“Well, no,” Hermione said, and scratched at the back of her neck. “Not so much with the dentistry. But dentistry is common and boring to Muggles, and wizards don’t care about Muggle things, so nobody asks too many questions if you say your parents are dentists. Try telling people at school your parents are part of an ancient secret society, though, and the questions never stop. So you can see why we went with dentistry.”

His eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, and Hermione scuffed the dirt with the toe of her trainer. She felt twelve years old again under that obsidian glare.

“Look, it’s not…we’re not like, the Illuminati or Muggle Death Eaters or anything like that. We just…take care of things. We don’t even have a name, not really. Mostly we do research and development. Intelligence work. Things like that. You could ask Headmaster Black’s portrait about my great-aunt Sabine, if you like. They apparently worked together for a bit although my great-grandmother was convinced that they had a torrid affair.”

Whether his incredulous look was due to the thought of her family’s extracurricular activities or the idea of Phineas Nigellus Black having a _torrid affair_ with anyone, let alone a Muggle, Hermione couldn’t have said. After a moment, though, he gave her a short nod and apparated away.

Hermione trudged back inside to find her parents bickering over dinner. Her mother wordlessly shoved a pile of carrots at her, and Hermione began to peel.

“Observant man, your professor,” her dad said mildly. “Seems nice enough though.”

“Well, he is a spy,” her mum said. “Stands to reason you’d have to be pretty observant to be a spy. He’s quite concerned about this…phenomenon, isn’t he?”

Hermione nodded.

“He didn’t say in so many words but if he’s willing to come to the examination tomorrow morning, he’s quite concerned. Word is that with Malfoy imprisoned, he’s the Dark Lord’s new right-hand man,” Hermione said. “I don’t think he has a lot of free time. Ginny said Fleur said he’s got Wormtail living with him too, so getting away isn’t exactly easy.”

“Wormtail is the one who used to be your friend’s rat?” her dad asked, and Hermione nodded. “And your Professor Snape is working with him for this Dark Lord fellow? Hermione darling, you know we’ve always trusted your judgement, but are you sure we should be sharing all this information with him? You know we’re going to have to show him the Hive tomorrow.”

“I trust Professor Snape, Dad,” she said firmly. “He put himself between me and a _werewolf_. Plus, he saved my life at the end of term. If it hadn’t been for him knowing how to counter that purple hex, I’d be _dead_ now. Plus he’s an expert in the Dark Arts. If what we’re dealing with is magical at all, Professor Snape will be able to tell.”

“You know the man better than we do, of course,” her mum said with a shrug. “Now come over here and stir for me, there’s a girl.”

Xxxx

Severus Snape apparated into the library at Grimmauld with a pensive expression on his face. After a long moment, he strolled into the hallway and poked the portrait of Headmaster Black.

The old man sat up straight and glared at him, and Severus smirked.

“A word, Headmaster Black?” he asked mildly. The old man nodded and disappeared, presumably into a portrait in the library – which was indeed where Severus found him.

“And how can I help you, Snape?”

Severus turned an armchair to face the portrait, sat down, and steepled his fingers. He was striving to present an unaffected façade, instead of the burning curiosity that had been his downfall all his life. The late Headmaster was eyeing him from an armchair in a painting that mirrored the Black library almost exactly, almost giving the impression that they were in the same room.

“I’ve been told,” Severus said, with a curl of his lip to emphasize how fond he was of being ordered about, “to ask you about someone named Sabine. A Muggle, I believe. You would have worked with her at one point, and apparently her sister was convinced that there was…something more?”

Black seemed to flinch at the name, and eyed Severus closely.

“You’re talking about Sabine Granger, aren’t you,” the portrait said flatly. “How did you come to hear of her?”

“I believe I am, yes. Apparently the young Muggleborn girl you may have seen fluttering about here is a relative of hers.” Severus sat back and watched the portrait process this.

“Not the Gryffindor?” He made a horrified face. “My word, Sabine would have had a fit, to think of one of her relatives in that benighted house. The whole family was made for Ravenclaw, of course, or they would have been if they hadn’t been Muggles. Ravenclaw down to the bone, always wanting to know things. How it worked, why it worked, what it was. Mad for knowledge, they all were. Yes, I worked with Sabine for a time, before I became Headmaster. The wards on their home needed recasting-“

“Forgive the interruption, Headmaster,” Severus said, sitting forward intently. “The wards? I was under the impression that the family was Muggle…”

Black waved a hand as if to dismiss the concern.

“For a given value of ‘Muggle,’ certainly, Snape. However, there has been…shall we say, a history of cooperation? Between certain parts of the wizarding world and the House of Granger for centuries. It was a Granger who wrote the Statute of Secrecy, not that you’d know it from the history books. Sabine approached me on behalf of her family when the wards began to fail. Called in an old debt, as it were. We may have forgotten House Granger, Snape, but they most certainly have not forgotten _us_.” Headmaster Black settled back in his armchair, smiling almost pleasantly. “So they’ve finally thrown a witch, have they?” he said. “The family must have been delighted when she started to show magical potential.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’ve always wanted magic, of course,” Black said idly. “Not enough to allow a wizard in their gene pool if he wasn’t ‘properly qualified’, naturally – wouldn’t do to have substandard Grangers with magic running about. I wonder if they found a wizard bright enough to satisfy the aunts, or if the girl is an anomaly.”

The old man eyed Severus speculatively, and snorted.

“If I were you, young man, I’d keep a lid on that brain of yours around the Grangers, or the Aunties will have you matched up in half a heartbeat.”

Severus felt his eyebrows crawling up his forehead.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” he managed, eventually.

“They breed for brains, of course,” Black said, waving a hand as though it should have been obvious. “A thousand years, they’ve been at it, and I daresay it’s worked, if what I’ve heard about the little Mudblood’s even half true. Sabine would have had me – nine NEWTs, I definitely qualified – but the Aunties nixed it. Apparently the Black line has a history of instability and they didn’t want to risk it.”

Severus sat back in his chair, eyeing the portrait, and finally gave a small smirk. The portrait scowled.

“Yes, yes, you don’t need to rub it in, Snape – between dear Bellatrix and that good-for-nothing great-grandson of mine, it certainly looks like we’ve proved the Aunties right.” Black smirked again. “You, on the other hand…your mother was a Prince, wasn’t she? Clever family, the Princes. Not much in the looks department, but you can’t have everything. But sane, they say. No mad uncles in _that_ family.”

Severus shot to his feet, feeling his face contort into his most vicious scowl.

“Enough,” he snapped. “I thank you for your time, Headmaster, but I’m afraid I must be going.”

He made it halfway to the door before Black called out.

“You’re going to the Hive, then?” he asked. Severus turned and raised an eyebrow, and Black leaned forward in the armchair. “The Granger place.”

“Perhaps,” Severus replied. “Miss Granger’s father has been kind enough to allow me access to a unique specimen he’s acquired.”

“Take me with you,” Black said eagerly. “There’s a pocket-watch with an empty frame in the compartment behind my portrait. Take it, and I’ll be able to accompany you.”

“Why?”

“Why would you, or why would I want to?”

“Either,” Severus said. “Or both.”

“I haven’t been there in eighty years. I’d like to see the place again.” Black eyed Severus carefully, and sighed. “I’m bored, damn it! Between Albus’ office and this dump, I haven’t been anywhere interesting since I died. You’re going to the Hive, and I’m bored, so why not?”

Severus narrowed his eyes at the late headmaster.

“Black, your attempts at spying are as pathetic as a Gryffindor’s. If Albus wanted to know about this matter, he would know already.”

“It’s not for Albus,” Black said, frowning. “ _This_ portrait isn’t bound to the Headmaster’s oath, you know. As long as I’m in this frame – or indeed any frame not in that damn office – I am not bound to obey the headmaster’s whims. I’m telling you, Snape, this is purely to relieve my boredom.”

Severus sighed. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand the concept of boredom, it was just that he had very little personal experience with the phenomenon.

“Yes, yes fine, Black, I’ll drag you along. I’m warning you though – one comment about Mudbloods and I’m chucking you in the Thames and we’ll see how bored you get watching boat bottoms go by.”

The old man grinned and strolled out of his portrait. Severus made sure to find the pocket watch before Apparating away from Number Twelve and back to Spinner’s End, where he amused himself by tormenting Wormtail until bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we introduce Hermione's extended family, have a terrifying encounter, and Hermione Granger is the most irritating thing Severus Snape has ever experienced.
> 
> There is also chocolate, and butterflies.

The next morning, he dressed in Muggle clothes and Apparated himself into the Grangers’ back garden at nine, to find Miss Granger waiting for him with a cup of coffee in each hand, wearing black jeans, dark trainers, and a plain dark shirt, with her hair in a braid over her shoulder. She grinned at him and handed over one of the cups.

“Good morning, sir,” she said. “My father is running a few minutes late – he’s always a bit late for everything – so I thought you’d enjoy a cup of coffee while we wait for him.”

Severus accepted the cup, which was delicious, and followed Granger into the kitchen.

“Did you speak to Headmaster Black, then?” she asked.

“I did. He’s here with me, in fact,” Severus said, and handed her the pocket watch. She took it and smiled at the tiny portrait.

“Headmaster! It’s lovely to see you. Will you be visiting the Hive with us, sir?”

Severus let the girl chatter on while he surveyed the kitchen. It looked like an ordinary Muggle kitchen, and he was about to consider asking Granger to hurry her father up when the man arrived,  still fiddling with his hair. Such as it was, and what there was of it, anyway. The girl’s mother was close behind, tugging a jacket into place as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Well,” Jean Granger said with a smile at Severus that almost had him checking behind him for the person she was looking at. “Don’t you Muggle up nice, Professor.”

“Mum!” Granger exclaimed, blushing furiously. “No flirting with my professors! I forbid it!” The girl turned to him, clearly mortified. “Sorry, Professor. She’s awful.”

Severus ignored her apology and drained his coffee.

“Shall we go?” he asked. “I confess myself eager to see this specimen you’ve procured, Roger.”

Five minutes and a small argument later, he found himself in the backseat of a battered VW Beetle next to his second-most annoying student. Apparently Jean got carsick if she wasn’t in the front and couldn’t drive, Roger had a dicky knee (never negotiate with the Yakuza, the man had told him cheerfully) and Severus couldn’t very well insist on driving someone else’s car. Well, in theory he probably actually _could_ , but if his mum heard (and she would hear, she heard everything, the woman was worse than Dumbledore) she’d have his head mounted on a wall as a warning to future generations.

“Do you mind if I read, Professor?” Granger asked, holding up a colourful paperback novel. Severus just about managed not to snatch it out of the girl’s hands when he saw the author’s name, but it was a close thing.

“You read Pratchett, Miss Granger?” he asked. _Calmly, Severus, calmly_ , he told himself. _Mugging your students for reading material is beneath you_.

“Oh, yes sir. I find him an astute student of human nature. And of course, he’s funny.” She half-turned to face him on the seat, the book dangling from her hand. “I’ve always thought that Professor McGonagall and Granny Weatherwax would get along famously.”

Severus snorted a laugh at that mental image.

“Indeed. Is that the new one, then?” _Of course it’s the new one! As if you don’t know every cover by sight!_

“ _Interesting Times_ , sir. Dad knows to have the new Pratchett for me when I come home. Would you like to borrow it? This is actually my second time through.”

Severus was grateful for the fact that she handed it over immediately, since it saved him the trouble of Stunning her and stealing it. If anything interesting happened on the rest of the journey, he honestly couldn’t have said.

He eventually came back to Earth when the car rolled to a stop in front of a massive wrought-iron gate. The gate opened in front of them and Severus felt the tingle of the wards as they passed through into what was clearly an old – a very old – estate. The wards were ancient and powerful and the manor house at the end of the drive was massive. It was the kind of place Lucius would have given someone’s left arm for – probably not his, but someone’s anyway – all pale stone and the softness of ivy, none of the flash and glitter Lucius’ ancestors had enjoyed, and which Lu himself claimed gave him migraines.

“Impressive warding,” he murmured to Black, who was enjoying the view through Granger’s window. “My compliments, Headmaster Black.”

“Oh, this isn’t all me,” the portrait said cheerfully. “Some of these wards are as old as Hogwarts – in fact, some of these wards looked like they may have been cast by at least one of the Founders.”

“The Hive is old enough,” Jean said from the front. “It’s been in the same location since the family can recall.”

The beat-up little car looked enormously out of place in front of the manor, and Severus took a moment to take in the view after he unfolded himself from the car. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Miss Granger, who looked around with a pleased little smile on her face.

“I always wondered why you didn’t seem as impressed with Hogwarts as other Muggleborns, Miss Granger,” he said, and she turned to him wide-eyed. “Of course, it all would have become clear if I’d only known you’d grown up with…all this.”

“Oh, but I was terribly impressed with Hogwarts, sir!” she said earnestly. “It was just as the records described it, the stairs and the statues and the ghosts – I was so _excited_ to be there finally, to see it all first-hand!”

“Yes, yes,” he said, turning away from all that earnest excitement and back to the building. “I believe we have a job to do?”

And with that, he followed Roger up the steps to the front door, which opened with a shout of ‘Hermione, darling!’ and the next thing he knew he was surrounded by…ladies of a certain vintage. They clustered around Miss Granger like hens with only one chick, and she dispensed hugs and kisses to papery cheeks with a delighted smile as they were gently herded inside. Severus found himself the recipient of a number of sharp glances from bird-like eyes, and couldn’t help but notice that there was a certain assessing quality to the way the old women looked at him.

“Aunties,” Granger said, “this is Professor Snape from Hogwarts. He’s here to help Daddy see about those attacks.”

“How kind of you to come, Professor,” one of them said. “Will you be able to stay for a meal?”

“I’d be delighted,” Severus said smoothly, and they smiled at him as one. “Perhaps after the examination?”

Progress was slow, as every inhabitant of the massive house seemed intent on greeting ‘Hermione-Darling’ and being introduced to him. In his whole life, Severus had never seen so many beautiful people pleased to see him. By the time they reached the elevator, he’d been invited to stay for a meal six and a half times – number seven having been interrupted by Jean’s impatient ‘yes, yes, he’s been invited, he’s staying, now get a move on!’

“How many floors down are we going?” Severus asked after a moment in the silent elevator.

“Only two, sir, but there are a number of other subbasements. Perhaps another time we can give you a full tour,” Miss Granger said politely.

Severus grunted something that may have been an affirmative, and silence descended once again.

XXX

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator door finally slid open with a whoosh, and followed her parents into the white-panelled corridors of the research labs. They’d barely taken a few steps into the hall when Daniel bore down on them carrying lab coats for everyone, with a stark white bandage on his neck.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, slinging an arm around his shoulder before taking her own coat and handing the professor a spare.

“Your bloody specimen _bites_ , Hermione-Darling!” Daniel said mournfully. “The Pater’s been called away, he asked me to show you where we’re keeping her.”

“We already know it bites,” Professor Snape muttered. “We’re _here_ because she bites, aren’t we?”

“Oh, you’re Hermione-Darling’s Professor!” Daniel said, smiling brightly despite his tired eyes. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir. If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you where we’ve been keeping her.”

“ _Your_ Professor?” Professor Snape asks as they follow behind Daniel, and Hermione can feel the incandescent blush painting her face scarlet.

“Well, you are my professor, sir. You teach at the school I attend,” she said quietly, which wasn’t a lie but wasn’t exactly the truth either, but that didn’t matter because the next moment they had come to a stop in front of one of the large observation windows and it was…

There was…

Hermione found that she’d taken two steps back into the shelter of Professor Snape’s body, and he’d wrapped an arm around her from behind and twisted them both a bit, as though his first instinct was to shield her from the view of the…the _thing_ that was staring at them from the other side of the one-way mirror. And it _was_ staring at them, nevermind how impossible that was, staring straight at or through her and Professor Snape, clicking its jaw as though it was taking bites out of the air, its eyes blank. There was something _wrong_ about it, something that made Hermione’s stomach twist and her hands shake, almost like an aura, something like what she’d felt in third year when the Dementors had come for them, and not at all like that at the same time.

“Don’t,” Professor Snape said, reaching a hand to Daniel, who’d moved to open the door. His voice sounded strange and strangled, and his arm around Hermione was like a steel band. “Wait.”

He moved to release her and Hermione shuddered, but he gripped her shoulder with his free hand and stepped away.

“Keep well back from the glass, Miss Granger,” he said softly, and took a step closer. The thing, the horrible thing in the room, stumbled right up to the glass, its teeth clack-clacking soundlessly as it took great bites out of the air. The eyes were the worst, Hermione decided as she stepped back from the glass. Blank and utterly lifeless, and she’d caught a glimpse of Barty Crouch when he’d been Kissed but this was somehow worse because the thing in the room was still _moving_ and now its face was pressed up against the glass and that moving mouth was smearing spit and blood on the clear glass in front of Professor Snape. Her professor took a step to the side and the thing stumbled sideways, sliding against the glass and leaving a snail-trail behind its open grasping mouth.

“It can sense you,” Hermione’s father breathed, horror etched in his voice. “Daniel, did it-“

“No, this is the first time I’ve seen it react like this. It attacks when you come in but it’s never seemed to react to anything outside the room. Do you think it senses the magic, Professor?”

Professor Snape, still staring at the thing, nodded absently. He took out his wand and glanced at Hermione, gestured her against the far wall with a flick of his eyes. When she was safely away he moved, sharp and sinuous as his spellwork always was, and began to cast a spell. It sounded like a detection spell for dark magic but Hermione never got to hear the end of it because the moment, the _instant_ the gathered power began to swirl around the professor, the creature…

Lunged.

Rearing back and then forward, it crashed into the window with shattering force and reached _through_ it, its mangled grasping hands catching in the professor’s coat before he had a chance to move and then, and then it began to pull him _closer_ and Hermione moved faster than she’d ever moved in her life, reaching for those mangled claws. She hadn’t even touched them when Daniel was there, putting himself bodily between her and her target and hustling her back to the wall, where she could hear Professor Snape cursing and grunting and then, suddenly, a loud scream from her father that had Daniel distracted enough that she could dart around him. The creature was halfway out the window clinging to Professor Snape’s coat while the man himself was backing away quickly, dragging Hermione’s father along. Hermione had no chance to reflect on the fact that her father was clutching a bloodied hand because it was _climbing through_ , dragging its stinking body through the shattered glass with no care that it was slicing itself open!

The professor raised his wand again but Hermione was there before him, calling on the deep wells of power and sending her magic into the glass of the window, into the stone behind the corridor walls. And the glass became liquid and flowed and _pulled_ , yanking the monstrous thing back into the room, restraining it against the floor, and the walls and the roof sent bars crashing down, sturdy bars pulled from the bones of the earth itself that no hell-spawned creature would be able to break through in a hundred years.

Hermione staggered back against the wall as the sheer terror of the last few minutes hit her in the chest like a bludger, like a vast hand gripping her lungs and stopping her breath. She slid down the wall as Professor Snape summoned Daniel to attend to her father and stepped closer to the barred window, his mouth half-open in shock. He turned to her, still wide-eyed, and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Jesus fuck, Granger _what did you do_?” he demanded, and she tried to find a breath to answer him but there was nothing, just a great weight pressing down on her chest and black spots in front of her eyes. A moment later he was kneeling in front of her, one hand prying up her eyelid, the other wrapped around her wrist. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, “what the fuck kind of spell was that, and what have you done to yourself now, idiot girl?” He pinched her fingertips and seemed surprised when she yelped and pulled her hand away. “What spell was that, Granger?” he asked insistently.

“No-no spell,” she managed in between panting breaths.  “No spell, just me.”

The professor seemed to freeze and looked back at the new bars in the window, and then turned to her, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead.

“No spell,” he muttered. “Christ, you’ve probably exhausted yourself. Daniel! Daniel, when you’ve finished with Roger I need you to fetch chocolate for Miss Granger, and hurry!”

Hermione let him do what he thought he needed to, and concentrated on breathing, trying to relax into it, remember that she was safe now, that they were safe, everything was going to be okay…eventually she got her breathing under control enough that she could think again, and she rested her head against the wall and looked at Professor Snape, who was crouching in front of her, his worried eyes flicking between her pale face and her icy hands.

“Don’t try to speak,” he told her, and she frowned. He glanced back at the window warily, as though expecting the _thing_ , whatever the fuck it was, to appear again while his back was turned.

“It’s not exhaustion,” she muttered.

“Miss Granger, I assure you-“

“It’s not exhaustion, it was a fucking panic attack, okay?” she cried, closing her eyes. “I get them, sometimes. Since the thing with the, the basilisk. I just…I was so scared and, Professor, what _is_ that thing?”

“We’re going to find out,” he said grimly. “You know that there are potions for the panic attacks, don’t you?”

She flicked her eyes at his face again, but his expression wasn’t anything she’d seen on him before, so she sighed and closed her eyes again, relaxing her body muscle by muscle, breathing slowly and evenly.

“They make me stupid,” she said eventually. “And they’re addictive, and the side-effects…”

“Yes, I’m not particularly fond of them either, but-“

“But me no buts, Professor, you don’t take them either so you don’t have a leg to stand on,” she said flatly. He reared back, his expression almost ridiculously affronted, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath instead of going off on a tear.

“Right,” he said eventually. “Miss Granger, explain how you did _that_ ,” he pointed at the window, “without a spell.”

Hermione shrugged.

“The same way I’ve always done magic, sir. I visualised the result, applied my will, and called the magic.”

“But you didn’t use a spell!”

Hermione glanced between her professor and the window, trying to understand. It seemed so _obvious_ to her, and she was deeply scared that she was about to have one of those moments where something that seemed perfectly obvious to her was, in fact, not obvious to anyone at all. It was worse because this was _Professor Snape_ , whose words about foolish wand-waving and silly incantations had convinced her that she was not, in fact, completely mistaken about the nature of magic.

“…no, sir, I didn’t use a spell. I mean…surely you’re aware that the spells we’re taught are basically window-dressing? As if the words _Wingardium Leviosa_ have any power at all, _please_ , sir, credit me with a little intelligence!”

His scowl was truly ferocious, but as Hermione watched, all his anger seemed to drain away and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with an expression she decided to file as No.23 – Baby Jesus Give Me Strength.

“ _I_ am aware of that Miss Granger,” he said, not opening his eyes. “You, on the other hand, have not even begun training in wandless magic, so I would like to know who taught you nonverbal spells!”

“It’s not _nonverbal_ , sir!” Hermione exclaimed, pushing herself up to sit straight so she could explain properly. “It’s…there’s no spell, sir. It’s just my will and my magic. It’s the way I made magic when I was a child, before Hogwarts, and I’ve been keeping it up because it seemed useful. I thought…I thought nobody talked about it because they didn’t want kids experimenting, but it must be something people _know_ about, yes? Like the accidental magic we do when we’re little – we want a thing, and we use magic to make it happen.”

Professor Snape looked as though he wanted to say something, but a moment later Daniel reappeared, panting, with a chocolate bar for Hermione. She wasn’t suffering from magical exhaustion, but she _was_ female, so she took the chocolate and put it in the pocket of her lab coat. Daniel stayed long enough to tell her that her dad was being seen to in the infirmary before taking himself off, promising to come back later to fetch them.

“I want you to explain this to me,” Professor Snape said, “in exacting detail. Before we examine the specimen. I think we need to think about the implications of it being able to sense magic, but I, for one, am not going to be able to focus until you’ve explained to my satisfaction how you did what you just did.”

“We can go to my lab if you like,” Hermione offered, pushing to her feet and offering the professor a hand. “It’s just down the corridor.”

“Of course you have your own lab,” he muttered, ignoring her hand as he stood.

“Well, we needed somewhere to study me where I couldn’t bring the house down,” Hermione said. “So, I have a lab.” She saw his dark look and sighed, knowing where his mind was going. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I know the horror stories, Professor, about what would happen if Muggles found out about magic folk. The experiments and the dissections and all that, but this was nothing like what you’re thinking. This is my _family_ and they love me and my magic, and they were as eager to understand as I was. They would never hurt me, or allow me to hurt myself.” She came to a stop in front of the door to her lab, smiling at her name in big letters on the door, exactly where her tiny self would have been able to see them clearly. “You have to promise not to make fun of me though.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her as if to say _me, make fun? Madam, please_.

“Why would I make fun of your lab, Granger?” he asked.

“Because I decorated it when I was five, sir,” she said as she swung open the door. “I quite liked butterflies at the time.”

Professor Snape blinked twice and stared at the lab, at the light pink walls and the ceiling with the sparkling golden rain that vanished before it could hit anything, and the swarms of blue and purple butterflies that winged from one end to another.

“I never would have guessed,” he said drily, and took a hesitant step inside. When the pink did not appear to be contagious, he walked in more confidently, looking from the groaning bookshelves to the computer monitor, to the clear area in the middle of the room, surrounded by lab benches. “What kind of research could anyone do in a room like this?”

“Magical research, of course,” Hermione said, heading over to the bar fridge in the corner. It was well-stocked, as it always was, and she smiled. “Juice, sir? I have apple and…well, apple’s pretty much it, I don’t really do other kinds.”

Professor Snape accepted a juice box, fiddled for a moment with the straw, and then leaned against wall. Somehow, despite the fact that he was wearing black jeans and a black button-up shirt and sipping from a juice box with colourful cartoon characters on it, he looked exactly like he always did in Potions, all expectant questioning eyebrow and intent eyes, and Hermione felt for a moment as though she should have her hand in the air. The fact that one of the conjured butterflies – she’d made them when she was six, and had never had the heart to get rid of them – was sitting on his shoulder did not detract from his air of decidedly menacing determination.

“Now, Miss Granger,” he said slowly, “you will explain.”

Hermione plopped herself down on the lab counter and took a sip, trying to gather her thoughts. It didn’t help much.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you, sir. I mean, when I did my first accidental magic, I didn’t know what I was doing. But then the Pater explained it to me, about magic and wizards and that I’m a witch, and I thought, if I could remember what that feeling was like, I could make something happen again. So the next time I did accidental magic, I remembered, and then I tried until I got it right.” She shrugged, not wanting to go into the many, many times she’d cried with sheer frustration at the fact that nothing was _happening_ , about the time she’d run to the Pater and asked him was he _sure_ , that she was a witch? “I assumed that pureblood children learn the same way.”

Professor Snape shook his head slowly.

“No, Miss Granger, they do not. When pureblood children exhibit magic, they are carefully trained by their parents – usually their mothers, because their magic is thought to be more compatible – to control their accidental magic, and shown a few children’s spells. They are not left to experiment with their accidental magic until they bloody _harness it to their will_!” Professor Snape seemed to realise that he was about to start shouting, because he closed his eyes and muttered something, then fixed her with a glare. “This…accidental magic that you use. What does it feel like, when you use it?”

Hermione flung her hands into the air.

“Sir, I can’t…I don’t have the words for it! It’s…the magic is _there_ , right?” She gestured to the air around her. “So I just…I focus on what I want. And then I sort of…breathe it in? That’s not a good way to describe it, but close enough, and then I breathe it out and focus and…well. Then the magic happens. Sometimes it feels like it’s wrapping around me rather than me taking it in, but sometimes it’s like I reach out a hand. It all depends.”

Professor Snape sighed.

“Miss Granger, if you agree, I would like to use Legilimency on you in order to show you a memory.”

“Oh, of course, sir! Should I stand up?” Hermione looked at him earnestly, smiling. It was honestly rather a relief, because his reaction had started to worry her. If the one person she’d been _sure_ understood magic the way she did couldn’t even understand how she had done it…

A moment later Professor Snape was in her mind, and she tried not to think of anything at all, and then she was sucked in through his dark eyes and into a memory where a young skinny boy in mismatched clothes perched in a tree with a girl who had a long fall of bright red hair. And then the boy looked at her and she fell even further in, until she was _inside_ his body, feeling his long bones press against his skin, and the rasp of bark against his bare feet.

She/he/they glanced at the girl and grinned, and the girl smiled back, and it was like a flower bloomed in the boy’s chest.

“Come on, then!” he said. “You ready, Lily?”

And the girl nodded and they both jumped from the tree, but instead of falling to the ground and broken bones and tears, the boy _folded_ the world around him, and she could feel the magic bowing to his will, carrying him into the air until they hovered again, side by side at the level of the branch they’d just left. The girl threw back her head and laughed, and they swooped around the tree like birds that had just discovered flight, and suddenly Hermione was back into her own body.

Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at her professor.

“Is that how it feels?” he asked, frowning at her thoughtfully.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! How did you – was that you, sir? Who was the girl?”

“Yes, it was me, and the girl is none of your concern,” he snapped. “Granger, that’s not accidental magic. That’s bloody _primal_ magic. It’s…it’s not supposed to be used anymore, it’s fucking illegal, and you just…Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, girl, you are _the most insufferable thing I have ever seen in my entire life!_ Get down from there this instant!”

Hermione laughed and turned upside-down, where she was floating near the ceiling of the room.

“Oh my God,” she burbled, wrapped in waves and bubbles of magic, feeling it flowing though and into and out of her, carrying her wherever she willed. “This is the _best thing ever_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, primal magic was something I came up with just before falling asleep one night, when I was trying to explain the way this Hermione sees and uses magic and I'm really rather fond of the idea. I might nick it for an original fic some day, because it's really very flexible and so on.
> 
> Also what did you guys think of my first actual onscreen zombie? Yea or nay? I'm trolling for comments here, people, don't let me down!


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Granger,” Severus said, investing his tone with weary patience. “Will you please get down from the ceiling?”

The girl looked as though he’d cancelled Christmas, but she obeyed, sinking down slowly until her feet touched the ground. When she was fully on her feet she let out a sigh, and sat down again, looking up at him with big, curious eyes.

“Primal magic,” she said, crossing her arms. “Never heard of it. Why’s it illegal?”

Severus settled back against the counter again, taking a sip of juice, and sighed.

“Because it’s dangerous, Granger. It’s uncontrollable and can’t be defined and packed into neat little boxes, and it’s not something that can be taught in a way the Ministry understands. And before all mention of it was outlawed, there was speculation that primal magic somehow drained the…call it ambient magic, in the area surround the user.”

Granger leaned her elbows on her knees and looked up at him, shaking her head firmly.

“Well, that last bit’s just not true. I’ve done experiments, and this…primal magic, the way I cast, it _creates_ more magic than it uses. It’s like…look,” she jumped up and grabbed a thick file from the groaning shelf to her right, slapping it down on the counter. Severus leaned in to look over her shoulder at the mess of figures and diagrams, all carefully inked in the childish hand he remembered from her second-year essays. “See here? This is the ambient magic baseline reading. This is after I cast wand-spells. See how it drops? And _this_ is when I use primal magic. Massive spikes every single time. The Pater reckons that when I use primal magic, I’m acting like a sort of generator for magic, creating more than I use. If that makes sense.”

Severus nodded. Her figures certainly seemed to support what she was saying.

“Irrelevant, Granger,” he said. “It’s illegal. It’s illegal to learn it, teach it – the only reason it’s not illegal to _know_ about it is because parents need to know about it in order to keep curious little monsters like you _away_ from it. It’s considered – and please do not bore me with your arguments believe me, I’ve tried them all – the darkest of the Dark Arts.”

She eyed him over her shoulder, one eyebrow in the air, and bit her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“How illegal, exactly, sir?” she asked, with a certain undertone of _do I need to find a place to hide your body_.

“Dementor’s Kiss, Granger. First offense, no appeal. If you ever give anyone cause to suspect that you can use primal magic, you’re fucked.” Severus took a few steps back and leaned against the counter again, sipping at the too-sweet apple juice for something to do. “You can never give anyone cause to test you for the traces.”

The girl scowled and tugged at the end of her braid, and then looked up at Severus again with that light in her eyes, the one that sometimes made him wish his dignity allowed for ducking behind his desk when her hand went up.

“Why is it so important that children be kept away from it?” she asked, and Severus sighed.

“Because it can’t be learned as an adult, Granger. Once you’ve channelled your magic through a wand, you can’t learn primal magic – it has to be learned first, and then wand magic can be learned overtop it. Wand magic,” he said, stepping back into Lecture Mode again, “is easily controlled and regulated. Certain spells are legal under certain circumstances, certain spells are illegal, and so on. Primal magic, on the other hand, cannot be regulated. It is, as you said, magic and will. No spells or incantations, nothing except the wizard and his magic. The Ministry is terrified of it, and with good reason – a primal mage may not be more powerful than one trained solely in wand magic, but he’s certainly more versatile. Even the wandless magic that is taught in seventh year, Granger, is simply wand-magic channelled through the user rather than the wand. Recognizable spells with orderly results, not unpredictable flares based on the whims of the caster.”

“But that’s insane!” she objected, shooting to her feet and beginning to pace. “They’re _crippling_ us! Primal magic is…it’s versatile and beautiful and yes, alright, I suppose if Volde- His Lordship could do it we’d all be in the deep cacky, but…And giving someone the Kiss because of something they learned as a child…that’s ridiculous as well!”

“It is what it is, Granger.” She eyed him thoughtfully, and he sighed. “Yes, I can do primal magic as well. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” she said flatly.

“The Headmaster bound my primal magic in my fifth year. While he lives, or unless I can get him to lift the binding, I can use only wand-magic.”

Granger looked horrified, and Severus sighed again, longer and deeper. This conversation was rapidly veering into territory he had no intention of discussing with anyone _ever,_ let alone with Hermione bloody Granger, the swottiest swot ever to swot, champion of every underdog from Canterbury to Inverness. Who was even now looking at him with grief-stricken dark eyes.

“It was consent to be bound or go to Azkaban, Granger, and it’s not actually…well, no, fuck that, it’s fucking awful and I really wouldn’t recommend it. Which is why I’m not going to tell anyone about you, and _you_ are going to be very, very careful and _never_ let the Headmaster know what you can do. Are we clear?”

“As crystal, sir,” she said. “I don’t do that at school anyway, I always thought it was better to focus on wand magic while I was there, and use my own magic at home.”

“If I’d been as clever as you,” Severus said drily, “I’d be a free man today.”

Granger blushed and fiddled with her file, and eventually gave him a little smile.

“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.

A moment later the door opened and Jean peeked around it, smiling when she saw them.

“Hermione-Darling, your father’s had his hand stitched up and I’m taking him home – he’s a bit woozy. Why don’t you and the Professor stay and investigate that…thing, and then you can ask for the loan of a car?”

“I’ll Apparate her,” Severus found himself offering. “Much quicker.”

“Oh, that would be excellent,” Jean said with a beaming smile. “And don’t forget you promised to stay for lunch – the Pater is very eager to meet you. And I’m taking Headmaster Black with me – he’s got a hankering to see a Muggle home.”

Granger’s easy smile turned into a small frown, and she looked at her mother sharply. Jean’s expression of utter innocence fooled absolutely nobody.

“Mum…”

“I’ll see you at home, darling!” And with a wave and a smile, she was gone. Severus stared at Granger, who was scowling at her desk.

“You seem upset,” he said mildly.

“More embarrassed, really,” she said, and switched on her smile again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Severus scowled at her, but the girl ignored his fearsome look in order to carefully replace the file folder.

“Granger, explain,” he said firmly, and she sighed.

“They’re matchmaking,” she grumbled.

The world went a bit wobbly for a moment before Severus managed to get himself back under control, and he raised an eyebrow at Granger, who was blushing for England.

“Matchmaking,” he repeated. “As in…”

“As in at some point during lunch someone is going to mention that you’re very clever and quite attractive and would you consider, in a few years, marrying me and having lots and lots of sex and babies! Or even just the sex and babies. Or even just the bloody babies! I trust you understand the concept!” She glared at him, and Severus was suddenly fairly sure that if he said the wrong thing now nobody would ever find his body. The way tiny sparks were jumping from the wispy frizz that had worked itself loose from the braid was a clue.

“You’re joking,” he said flatly, and scowled for good measure. “Your family could not possibly be considering…you’re a student, for fuck’s sakes!”

“I did say ‘in a few years,’ sir,” she said mildly, her embarrassment apparently waning as his waxed. “After I’ve had a chance for, you know, uni and maybe an apprenticeship and so on.”

“Granger, you can’t possibly be thinking of _agreeing_ to this…insane scheme? It’s…I’m your _teacher_! And besides, you hate me.” That last had more than a little of the hysterical about it, but Severus felt he was allowed. It wasn’t every day that he was told that a brilliant young witch’s family had apparently decided that a bit of Severus Snape was just what their family tree needed. It was flattering, although he didn’t think it would ever become relevant – surely the Grangers would find some other wizard for their witchling daughter, and besides, if Severus survived the coming war he would be terribly surprised.

Granger did not appear to agree.

“I do not hate you, don’t be ridiculous!” she said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. “I think you’re intelligent, attractive, and brave. You’re not a particularly nice teacher, but you are an effective one – I just don’t think you should ever have been inflicted on classrooms full of eleven year olds with no clue and less desire to learn Potions. Or have had them inflicted on you, for that matter. But look, this is all beside the point. You can just tell them you’re not interested and they’ll back off.”

“Has that ever worked for anyone?” Severus asked. “Because I have some experience with meddling relations – and meddling headmasters – and that is not a strategy that has ever had much success for me.”

Granger headed past him to the door, laughing softly. She smiled at Severus as he passed her, and they fell in step in the hallway.

“It might not work with the Aunts,” she said, “At least not on the first go.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Granger took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something.

“I can see it, you know,” she said thoughtfully.

“See what, Granger?”

“The binding. I’ve always been able to see it. You’re covered in chains.”

Severus was rather proud of the fact that he showed no more reaction than a hitch in his stride. It was probably the most accurate summary of his life anyone had ever made.

“And you’ve got a new one. Did you make a vow over the summer, Professor?”

Severus stopped dead, and Granger looked up at him, her dark eyes puzzled.

“That,” he said grimly, “is none of your concern. Now, Miss Granger, if we could get on with this examination before I die of old age?”

She nodded and tugged the braid again, her hand gripped around it so tightly that the knuckles stood out white against her skin, and they walked in silence down the empty corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the excessive dialogue in this chapter - there will be a bit more action next time!
> 
> Also - ten points to the person who can spot the film reference in this chapter (hint: In the film, it's said by Alan Rickman)


	4. It's time for your physical, Ms. Doe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus and Hermione get some disturbing news, and Hermione gets nibbled on. Just a bit.

Hermione came to a stop in front of the viewing window. She couldn’t see the thing, between the bars she’d made and the fact that it was restrained on the floor, but she could still _sense_ it, tainting the air with its foul aura, and she shuddered inwardly and took a small step closer to Professor Snape. He glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t move away so she counted it a win.

“You can’t even see it, Granger,” he said coolly, and she looked up at him again, biting her lip.

“I can _feel_ it in there, though,” she said. “It’s rotten and it’s foul and so hungry it _aches_. Can’t you sense it?”

“No. But I believe you.” He cast a glance at the barred window and sighed. “I can’t sense a damn thing from it. I can’t sense _anything_ from inside that room. You didn’t place any wards, did you?”

“No, sir. Didn’t think of it, to be honest.”

Professor Snape took a deep breath, nodded to himself, and stepped to the door, but Hermione caught him by the arm before he could touch it.

“Maybe we should take a moment and read its file?” she asked gently, touching the file rack next to the door. “I mean, Daniel probably did some tests when they brought it in, yeah? No point duplicating things that have already been done.”

The professor sighed and took the file, and Hermione wedged herself in under his elbow to get a look in. He gave her a filthy look but did lower the folder so she could see as well, which was more in tune with the way he’d been speaking to her in the lab. She rather liked that version of him, and was not planning to settle for Grumpy Potions Master while they were examining the frankly terrifying thing in the next room, not when the altogether more human version was available. Daniel had indeed run tests – every test available to medical science, it seemed. She allowed her eyes to roam over the pages, assimilating the data.

“No pulse, no respiration,” she murmured. “It seems to breathe in only when it sights prey.”

“Brain activity ditto – how accurate is the equipment here, Granger? Would it necessarily pick up brain activity if it were present but low-level?”

“You might find better at St. Barts in London, sir, but I doubt it. Look at this deformation of the jaw and the muscles around it.”

“Optimised for biting,” the professor said quietly. “The teeth don’t appear to have changed, but the extra weight of bone and muscle here will give it a stronger grip than a human usually has. You’ll notice that it drew blood on your father and Daniel both – humans generally have difficulty biting straight through skin and muscle like that.”

He snapped the folder closed and scowled at the door again, his entire body rigid. Hermione rather got the impression that he wanted to go in there about as much as she did.

“We need gear,” she said, and trotted to a locker a few doors down, returning with a lab coat, gloves, goggles, and a mask. Her own were in her lab, and she cursed herself for not bringing them, but at least the family kept the lockers stocked with gear in case of accidents. Professor Snape wrestled himself into the lab coat and allowed her to help him with the mask and the goggles, but pulled two pairs of dragonhide gloves out of the inside pocket of his coat to replace the flimsy latex.

“It will have a difficult time biting through that,” he said, shoving a pair into her hands and flexing his fingers to settle his own lightly scaled black gloves.

“Oh! Thank you, sir!” she exclaimed, watching the ripple of scales as the elbow-length dragonhide gloves fitted themselves to her.

“Now may we enter?” he asked, and she was almost sure that he was scowling, despite the fact that she could see hardly any of his face between the surgical mask and the goggles. She nodded anyway, and he reached for the reinforced door, stepping in front of her as it swung open.

That turned out to have been an excellent idea, which opening the door had not, because the moment the door opened widely enough the thing was lunging for Professor Snape, its teeth snapping closed just in front of his nose. He shoved it, hard, and shouted something Hermione couldn’t make out through the ringing in her ears. Black rope shot out of the wand that had appeared in his hand like magic, yanking the creature back against the opposite wall, and they both stepped into the room.

“I thought you restrained it!” the professor shouted, and Hermione was trying to explain that she _had_ restrained it, restrained it with rock and glass formed into an impenetrable cage, when the professor’s black ropes crumbled to ash and the creature was free, again, coming at them teeth-first like it was starving, and all Hermione could sense was the _hunger_ , the terrible neverending hunger, so she stepped in front of the professor and shoved her hide-clad forearm crosswise between the monster’s jaws.

Both its hands came up, gripping on either side of its terrible ragged-toothed mouth, and Hermione screamed at the pain and the terrible pressure of its jaws on her forearm.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing, you stupid, stupid girl?” the professor roared in her ear, trying to pull her away from the thing, but she shook her head.

“I’m buying time, Professor,” she said through gritted teeth. “It can’t get through the dragonhide but look at it, _look_ , it’s not thinking, it’s just reacting, so we have time. Do your diagnostics!”

Professor Snape said a number of less than flattering things about her brains and ancestry, but he did move away from her, watching the creature carefully as it backed Hermione up against the wall, still trying to bite through the gloves. His wand and his lips moved, but as far as Hermione could see nothing was happening, but she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, because the pain in her arm was becoming a howling inferno of pressure and she was being _crushed_ , and then the thing was being yanked away from her, hurtling across the room to be bound to the other wall. Professor Snape was shouting in her ear and she obeyed, mindless from the pain, conjuring a cocoon of rock to cover the monster from ankle to collarbone.

Hermione sagged against the wall and looked down at her arm, where the dragonhide glove showed no sign of the creature’s attack even as underneath it her flesh throbbed and swelled.

“That,” Professor Snape said grimly, “was the most idiotic thing I have seen in my life. What possessed you, girl?”

Hermione reluctantly moved her eyes from the stone cocoon to look up at the professor.

“Magic doesn’t work on it,” she said blankly. She took a moment to draw another layer of rock over the creature as the innermost dissolved. “It’s eating through the rock almost as fast as I can draw it up. Your ropes didn’t last half a minute.”

“My diagnostic spells revealed absolutely nothing,” he added. “Like there’s not even anything there. You say it’s eating through the rock?”

“Not…not literally, it’s…I can’t really explain it, Professor. It’s like the rock is aging, like the natural processes of stone decay are accelerated and it just…crumbles. Sorry, I’m…this is a bit draining.”

She looked at the creature, which was snapping and snarling in their direction, and she couldn’t sense anything human from it, not like she could from living people. No hopes and fears and emotions flashing and hurling through their auras like salmon in a stream, just the terrible need to devour.

“It’s hungry,” she said, and the professor looked at her. “It’s so hungry. That’s…there’s nothing else there. Just the hunger. I don’t think there’s anything human left at all.”

His sharp eyes travelled from her to the creature, and then his spine went straight and he white-knuckled his wand with a scowl.

“I am going to perform Legilimency on it,” he said flatly. “Granger, if I’m not out in thirty seconds, I want you to Stun me. Understood? And keep an eye on that cocoon, the last thing I need is for the damn thing to try and eat me while I’m distracted.”

Hermione nodded and retreated back against the far wall, clutching her wand in her good arm. She was falling into a sort of rhythm with the creature, creating new layers as fast as they dissolved, everything to the rhythm of her heart as expressed by her throbbing forearm. Professor Snape stood in front of the thing and whispered the spell, and Hermione started counting down.

She got to ten before he gasped and staggered backwards, and Hermione stepped forward to catch him as he tripped and almost fell, nothing of her graceful professor to be seen now. Together, they moved until they were leaning against the barred window furthest from the creature. Professor Snape had his eyes closed and appeared to be trying not to vomit. Hermione, who had to maintain the cocoon, had no such luxury, and watched as the thing writhed against the bindings. It was immeasurably creepy. Anything human would have given up by now. Then again, she thought, remembering the gaping throat wound she’d spotted before she’d covered the thing in stone, anything human would have been _dead_ by now.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly, and he shook his head, his gasping breaths turning almost to sobs as he ran both hands over his face.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “There’s…there’s nothing. Nothing but the hunger you spoke of.” He shook himself and settled his face, and picked up his wand from where he’d dropped it. “I need samples,” he said grimly, and reached into his pockets.

Professor Snape produced sample vials and a small knife from his pockets, making Hermione wonder yet again how he managed to stuff all that in there, and had her dissolve part of the cocoon so he could get at the creature’s arm. Hermione stood at his shoulder as he sliced into its flesh, watching thick black blood ooze from the wound he made. He gathered the blood, which stank of rot, and neatly excised a portion of flesh for another vial.

“We need to know how to kill it,” he told her.

Hermione nodded, her eyes still fixed on the monstrous creature trapped against the wall.

“The family won’t object, as long as we leave them enough for an autopsy,” she commented. “Are you going to try the Killing Curse?”

“Eventually,” he said. “If nothing else works.”

Hermione watched as he readied himself, and then gasped and caught him by the arm just as he raised his wand.

“Use mine instead, sir,” she said.  “You don’t need these kinds of things on your wand if Moody or someone gets hold of it…”

“I have these kinds of spells on my wand already, Granger,” he said gruffly, but took her wand all the same, the delicate vinewood fitting strangely well in his long-fingered hand.

The magic was…disappointing, to say the least. Cutting spells didn’t cut. The entrail-expelling curse expelled a grand total of nothing. Imperio, according to Professor Snape, slid off it like water off a duck. And finally, when a grim-faced Professor Snape sent a flash of green light at the captive creature, the Killing Curse…didn’t.

“Well, shit,” Hermione breathed. She took a hesitant step closer to the creature and scowled fiercely at the place where the professor had extracted the samples. “That was…counterproductive.”

Professor Snape stared at the creature’s arm, which was now almost completely healed.

“It’s feeding off the magic,” he said. “Bloody buggering _fuck_ , Granger, it’s actually healing itself using magic!”


	5. Chapter 5

Severus fought down a brief flare of utter panic, which threatened to outstrip the low-grade terror that had been hanging around his guts since bloody Granger tried to feed the thing her arm, and tried to look at the situation logically.

“We’re going to have to try physical means,” he said.

Granger tore her eyes away from the creature for a second to look at him. She was surprisingly pale – or not that surprising; Severus wasn’t entirely sure how long they had been in the examination room, but she’d spent a significant portion of that time directly manipulating solid stone. They needed to finish this, and quickly.

“Let’s go for the big guns first,” Granger said. “Destroy its brain. If that doesn’t work, we’re going to be in the deep cacky.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Clearly all of that gallivanting about with Potter had done something to the girl’s brain, if she didn’t think that magic-immune monsters with a taste for human flesh was the deep cacky. Severus was fairly convinced that they were about as far up shit creek as it got, and there wasn’t a paddle in sight.

“Do you want me to do it?” Granger asked. “Only I’m getting quite tired so if we could move along a bit…”

“I’ll do it,” Severus snapped, and conjured a shovel out of the air. She looked at it with a frankly insulting degree of scepticism. “Watch and learn, Miss Granger,” he said, hefted the shovel, and drove it straight through the writhing monster’s forehead. The thing’s head made a sound like a coconut dropped from a great height, and there was a certain amount of…splatter, but in broad strokes it was much like taking the top off a boiled egg.

It was as though a string had been cut. The creature went limp almost instantly, the dank and oppressive aura that had been hovering just at the edges of Severus’ perception vanished, and Granger sagged and went limp. He just about managed to get an arm under her before she hit the floor, and she looked up at him with a woozy smile.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “That was…a bit more magic than I’m used to.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” he murmured, and set her back on her feet, keeping hold of her arms in case she decided to try making friends with the floor again. “You need a wash, and then some of that chocolate Daniel brought earlier, Granger.”

She nodded.

“Good idea. Great idea. I feel…filthy. Let’s go shower.” She wandered, somewhat unsteadily, in the direction of the door, Severus trailing close enough behind to catch her if her legs gave way again.

She led him to a sort of bathroom, with sealed shower cubicles and lockers filled with freshly laundered scrubs.

“We can decontaminate here,” she said, giving him a towel and a pile of cloth. “If you put your clothes in the dumbwaiter they’ll have it laundered after dinner.”

Severus looked at the clothing she’d handed him, and then at his own clothes. He wasn’t giving up his jacket – undetectable extension charms and Muggle laundry machines were _not_ pleasant bedfellows – but his shirt was sweaty, his jeans were grotty and had something suspiciously like a bloodstain on them, and the scrubs were really soft. Plus, he’d just been in a room with some kind of horrible monster. Usually when that happened his routine was shower, booze, bed. His body was _aching_ for the water to make everything all better.

A few moments later he was standing in the shower and seriously contemplating marrying Granger just for access to the damn bathing facilities. The water came from _everywhere_. Roof, walls, floor. Everywhere. The pressure was divine, the temperature just on the comfortable side of too-hot, and, in general, Severus thought he could happily spend the rest of his life being massaged by the shower. The soap, liquid and dispensed from the wall, was entirely unscented, and left his skin feeling softer and cleaner than anything in his life. Basically, by the time he left the marvellous shower, Severus felt like a new man.

He dried off and dressed in the scrubs, but not before turning them black – the pale greenish colour they’d been originally would have made him look like a walking corpse, and the last thing he needed was bad colour coordination on top of, you know, his actual face. His own clothes went into the dumbwaiter as instructed. He hoped he’d see them again. When he emerged, Granger was sitting on the floor in the bathroom, nibbling on the chocolate and making notes. She'd washed her hair as well, and it was twisted in a damp knot at the base of her neck. Linke him, she'd also changed the colour of the scrubs, and the black material made her look very pale in the electric lights, the bruise where the creature had gnawed on the glove standing out as vivid as his Dark Mark against the pale skin of her arm. She looked up when he came out and smiled, her hand not stopping its rapid movement across the page.

“I feel like a person again,” she informed him brightly. “I’ve made some notes about what we observed; I can give you a copy if you like?”

“Thank you, Granger,” he said, and accepted the Gemino’d pages, stuffing them into the pocket of the jacket he was carrying over his arm.

“It’s a pleasure, sir. And we’ve got about thirty minutes, so I can give you a brief tour of the house, or we can have a look at one of the sublevels. Which would you prefer? Personally I’d recommend the house, because you really need more time than that to properly experience the sublevels.”

Granger’s little speech, naturally, had the effect of making Severus even more curious about the sublevels – just how many were there, anyway? – but since he’d been promised a tour at a later date, he followed the girl into the lift and up, into the main house.

The part of the house that was aboveground, in stark contrast to the lower levels, was decorated in a really rather charming combination of antique and modern. The wide, clean hallways were occasionally dotted with artworks worth, if Severus was any judge, a significant fortune, and the rooms Granger took him through were much like what he’d experienced at Malfoy Manor, only somewhat more restrained. On the whole, it looked like what it more or less was – an ancient stately home, the kind where nobody had bought new furniture in five hundred years because what they had was solid enough to last. They passed a number of classrooms where children of various ages were working one-on-one with adults, all of whom paused in their tasks to give Granger a smile as they peeked in.

And then Granger took him into the music room, and Severus fell in love.

She called to him from a corner of the room, her glorious curves enticing him, begging him to touch and stroke, and before he could stop himself he’d crossed the room, his hand hovering just above the silken curve of her neck. He remembered himself and froze, and glanced over his shoulder at Granger.

“You play, Professor?” she asked.

Severus snatched his hand away from the violin and blushed violently, remembering the way his father had mocked his pitiful efforts with his mother’s ancient violin as a child. It was a sissy instrument, old Tobias had said, but nothing had deterred Severus from coaxing the battered old instrument to take him away from his life. He’d gotten good eventually but never, to his mind, good enough to let anyone hear him play. And probably never good enough to touch an instrument like _this_.

“My mother taught me,” he muttered, turning away from the instrument. It still seemed to call to him, begging him to touch it.

Granger came up beside him, bestowing a soft smile on the instrument that still seemed to sing to him.

“I was supposed to learn the piano,” she confided, “but the first time they brought me to the music room they couldn’t keep me away from the violins, and eventually they gave in. Would you like to…” she gestured at the instrument, and Severus gave her a blank look. Surely she wasn’t offering to let him actually _play_ on the thing? Severus was no expert, but even he could sense the aura of age around the violin, and see the work of a master in her clean and unadorned lines.

Granger looked at him expectantly and Severus cleared his throat, turning half away from her as he shook his head.

“Perhaps another time,” he mumbled, and she smiled.

Just then, a chime sounded, and Granger’s smile turned into a wicked little grin.

“Just as well, or we’d have missed supper and I’d have been murdered in my bed. The dining hall is this way.”

Xxx

Hermione led the professor through the suddenly-crowded hallways to the western dining room, hoping rather forlornly that they could eat quickly and bugger off before someone said something embarrassing. She adored her family, of course, but they were, not to put too fine a point on it, a bit weird. Even for the wizarding world, her family was weird.

That hope went right out the window when Simone tapped her on the shoulder just as they entered the eastern dining hall and cocked her head toward the Pater’s informal dining room.

“I didn’t know he was back yet,” Hermione muttered, and Simone grinned.

“He heard you and the professor have been mucking about with the walking corpse in the sublevels and told the Prime Minister he’d have to see him another time.” Her expression turned to one of concern, and she took a firmer grip on Hermione’s elbow. “He’s very concerned, Hermione.”

“So am I,” Hermione said, and cut across the dining room to the Pater’s domain. She turned to Professor Snape and smiled, aware that it looked a little lopsided. “The Pater has asked that we eat with him, sir.”

Professor Snape inclined his head and glanced around the crowded dining room, and Hermione didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know that he was grateful that he wasn’t expected to eat among the crowd.

“He is the head of the family, then?” he asked her in a low mutter.

“The closest we have, sir. He decides policy and strategy. The Aunts are our geneticists; they’re in charge of the overall breeding program. The Mothers have the right to veto any decision he makes.”

“Rather like a pureblood family then,” he said drily. Hermione grinned at him.

“Rather, yes. We maintain close relations with a number of pureblood families, of course. The Malfoys, the Blacks, the Princes, the Shacklebolts – although it took three generations to get the Shacklebolts access to the Life Wards; they _would_ keep having daughters. We lost the Prewetts in the sixteenth century and the Weasleys as well…and of course the Gaunts never did accept us. And the Potters are lost to us as well now; I can never bring Harry here.”

They’d reached the door and Hermione turned, to find that Professor Snape had stopped in his tracks several feet back and was staring at her in a kind of numb shock.

“Life wards,” he said flatly. His eyes unfocussed and she knew he was sensing the wards of the Hive, studying them. When he looked at her again, he looked absolutely astounded. “How old?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Eleven hundred years,” Hermione said. “This is the single most secure location in wizarding Britain, Professor. Won’t you come in?”

He followed her into the informal dining area and took an armchair, then fixed Hermione with a glare that made her feel like a firstie who’d just melted a cauldron.

“Miss Granger, I would very much like to know how you managed to modify Life Wards a millennium old in order to allow me access,” he said in his quiet, deadly voice. Hermione frowned, puzzled.

“I didn’t!” she exclaimed. “I mean, I suppose I could if I wanted to, since I’m of the bloodline of the sacrifice, but I didn’t need to.”

Professor Snape sat back with his arms crossed and scowled at her. Hermione fidgeted, and then jumped when a voice spoke behind her.

“You never needed to be added to the wards, young man,” the Pater said, gliding forward on silent wheels. “You’ve been part of them since the day you were born.”

Hermione smiled.

“Pater,” she said, and gave him a kiss. A moment later she’d grabbed a couch cushion and settled in next to the Pater’s chair, just as she’d done when she was very small, and had liked to sneak in and listen to council meetings. “This is Professor Severus Snape from Hogwarts. Professor, this is Xavier Granger, my grandfather, head of the House of Granger.”

Professor Snape gave a short nod. He appeared to be thinking very hard and, from the way his eyes darted to Hermione and then away, disapproved fiercely of something she was doing. Since Professor Snape often appeared to disapprove of the fact that she existed, Hermione decided to ignore it, and leaned her head against her grandfather’s knee.

“You’re saying I was born here,” the professor said eventually. “Inside the Life Ward.”

The Pater gave a low laugh and wound a strand of Hermione’s hair around his finger.

“Of course. Eileen Prince, like every Prince before her, came here to have her child. She consulted us on the match as well before she wed your father. He was quite willing to speak with us and be tested, and we told her she’d made a good choice.”

Professor Snape growled, but didn’t say anything as two of the girls from the week’s duty roster came in, balancing plates and glasses on trays, and served their dinner. As soon as they left, though, Professor Snape sat forward with a snort.

“You told her wrong, then. Tobias Snape was a-“ He broke off and looked away, hiding his face behind his curtains of dark hair. “He was not a good match.”

“He could have been,” the Pater said. “If your great-grandfather Septimus hadn’t been a pus-filled boil on the backside of humanity with some extremely peculiar ideas. Tell me, Severus, what do you know of the Inversus family of curses?”

“They turn any emotion into its opposite – love to hate, fear to courage…” Professor Snape eyed the Pater askance. “You’re implying that my great-grandfather used an Inversus curse on my father. Why would he do that?”

“For one thing,” the Pater said, “he had gotten it into his head that it was his job, as head of the family, to arrange a match for his granddaughter. Without consulting her, her parents, or us. It was a scandal. He arranged a match with a cousin – second along one line, third along another. We advised against it – we _strongly_ advised against it; there was virtually no chance of healthy offspring, and the man was forty years older than Eileen. Melisande – your great-grandmother – was horrified and tried to argue with him, but he would have none. Eventually Eileen took it upon herself to remedy the situation. _She_ consulted all the proper parties, and Tobias was so enamoured with her that he went along with everything. He had some magical blood a few generations back, enough that if he’d married the right Muggle they’d have produced a fairly powerful witch or wizard. With Eileen…well. You know how powerful you are, lad, and how intelligent.”

Professor Snape had started picking at his dinner while the Pater spoke, and glanced from him to Hermione with a frown.

“Why didn’t she leave him, then? If he was cursed to hate her?”

“Because Septimus didn’t just want the match stopped; he wanted Eileen punished. So he invoked a magical binding, tying her and her offspring to Tobias. She couldn’t have left if she wanted to, not until he died a natural death.”

Professor Snape looked like he wanted to say something, but he never got the chance. A moment later the door to the private dining room slammed open and Narcissa Malfoy stumbled in, looking more upset than Hermione had ever seen her, supporting a dazed and limping Draco with an arm around his waist.

“Xavier, you’ve got to help, that _bastard_ has Marked my son!”


	6. As Darkness Devours, so We Devour Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has got fluids, puking, and general grossitude. 
> 
> If you want to know why it took me a year and ten days to update this, know that I was trying to avoid the final scene in this chapter. But then I decided to find my ladyballs and just write the fucking thing, because this was the way I'd decided on and that was fucking that.
> 
> Also, my apologies to those people that I promised a Halloween chapter to. My cowardice intervened.

Severus shot to his feet with a startled oath and whirled to the crash of crockery to point his wand at quite possibly the _very last_ person he would have expected to see in this house, no matter how strange.

“Narcissa!” Granger yelped, and hurtled to her feet to support Draco’s other side, and Severus watched as they manoeuvred the boy to a nearby couch. Severus moved closer to peer at Draco over Granger’s shoulder. The boy looked truly dreadful – pale and sweating, and reeking of vomit. A quick cleaning spell took care of the smell, at least, and Granger shot him a grateful look over her shoulder.

Narcissa appeared to notice his presence for the first time.

“Severus,” she breathed, and took his hand in both of hers. “Thank God you’re here. Is this…normal? I didn’t see Lucius for several days after he was Marked, and by that time he’d fully recovered.”

“How long has it been since he took the Mark?” Xavier asked gently, gliding closer on silent wheels. “As I recall, Lucius was fully recovered within a single day…”

“I had lingering symptoms for two days after taking the Mark,” Severus said, kneeling beside Granger to watch as she unwrapped a reeking bandage from Draco’s arm. “Nothing remotely like this, however.”

They both hissed as Granger pulled the last of the bandage free, revealing the oozing, festering ruin that should have been a crisp, clear tattoo.

“Shit,” Granger whispered. “Oh, shit.”

Severus didn’t have the energy to take her to task for her language.

“Why is it doing that?” Narcissa asked.

“The boy is not yet seventeen, am I correct?” a new voice asked. It came, Severus saw, from the portrait of a thin-faced man who looked terribly familiar, although Severus could not place him just this second.

“Not for some months, sir,” Narcissa said, abruptly a proper pureblood woman, her back straight and her face calm. “I do beg your pardon, sir, but is that…relevant?”

“Consent,” Granger muttered, and Severus cursed under his breath. The girl looked at the painting. “Draco’s too young to consent, so his magic is rejecting the parasite. Is that it, sir?”

The portrait nodded, and Narcissa sagged into a chair. For a long moment, everyone stared at the Mark on Draco’s arm. Granger was dabbing at it gingerly with a piece of folded cloth, her face thoughtful.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Severus finally said. “The Mark is dark magic, Granger, it doesn’t _care_ about consent.”

“But it does, young man,” the painting said firmly. “You know as well as I do that until a wizard reaches the age of majority, his magic does not fully belong to him. Only when the boy reaches the age of majority will his magic accept that he has the _right_ to taint himself with that loathsome parasite.”

“Draco won’t be seventeen for another three months,” Narcissa murmured. “He can’t survive this level of pain that long.”

Severus stared at the Mark on the boy’s arm. It appeared to be _bubbling_. No, there was no way the boy would survive. Later, he’d have to find time to think about why the portrait would use the word _parasite_ to refer to it, but for now…for now, the boy was almost certainly going to die.

Granger lurched to her feet and began to pace in small circles around the couch, muttering to herself.

“Hermione, what are you thinking?” Narcissa asked quietly, reaching out a pale long-fingered hand to the girl. To Severus’ surprise, Granger came easily and folded herself into Narcissa’s arms, and a moment later they were resting forehead-to-forehead and the girl’s breathing began to slow. Her hands were clasping Narcissa’s forearms so tightly that her knuckles were white, and if he hadn’t known better (and he probably _didn’t_ know better, since apparently he knew nothing about anything anymore) Severus would have said Granger was terrified.

“You know what you have to do, Hermione,” the portrait said, earning himself a glare from Xavier.

“Hermione will do her duty, Salazar, without any prodding from _you_.”

The portrait – Salazar. Salazar _Slytherin_? Could it be? – huffed and sat back, and Granger sighed.

“Narcissa, I can help Draco. I think. But you’ll have to take Sanctuary, and I don’t know what we can do for Lucius, because you won’t be able to return and if you don’t, the Dark Lord _will_ have him killed.”

“Miss Granger, what are you planning to do?” Severus asked.

“I’m going to…” Her face twisted in revulsion. “I’m going to… _remove_ his Mark. It’s…I’ve done it once, under Salazar’s instruction, and I’m _fairly_ sure I can do it again-“

“You can remove the Mark,” Severus said flatly. “ _You_. Albus Dumbledore _himself_ has tried to remove my Mark, and was unable to succeed, and you think _you_ can remove it?”

The girl scowled and crossed her arms, not looking at him.

“Not two hours ago, sir, you were telling me that I can use a form of magic that Albus Dumbledore considers so dangerous that he wrapped you up in chains to prevent you using it,” she snapped. “Should it really surprise you that there are things I can do that he might be unable or…or unwilling to do himself? Besides which, if you think that the Headmaster tried very hard to remove your Mark – you, the only Marked spy he has – then I’m afraid you’re much more naïve than I gave you credit for.”

And really, there was nothing to say to that, was there? Severus wasn’t sure whether his head was still spinning from the extraordinary day he’d been having, or if the girl was right, but when he thought about it…there really was no good reason to believe that Dumbledore would have put a proper effort into getting the Mark off Severus. It wouldn’t have gained him anything, would it?

“The girl can do it, Snape,” the portrait said coolly. “She’s been practicing the Primal Arts since she was a toddler, and I myself supervised her last attempt. I can assure you, Karkaroff’s death was _not_ her fault.”

“Karkaroff. You removed _Igor Karkaroff’s_ Mark? Are you _mad_?”

“He requested Sanctuary, Professor, what was I supposed to do? I had a duty, and the pain was driving him mad! Of course I helped him, when Salazar explained that I could.”

“Karkaroff was born in Bulgaria,” Severus said flatly.

“There’s a motherhouse there,” Xavier said. “The wards were seeded off the ones protecting this house. Hermione, perhaps you should prepare?”

The girl paled and nodded and, after a lingering glance at Draco, left the room.

“You’ll need a low table, if one of you could transfigure one,” Xavier told Severus as soon as she was gone. “Of a height that Hermione could easily work on if she were kneeling. Narcissa, I will have rooms made ready for you and Draco, and you should consider what to do about Lucius.”

Narcissa nodded faintly and thanked the man as he left, and then they were alone in the sitting room.

“What are you doing here, Severus?” Narcissa asked, transfiguring a mattress onto a coffee table and expanding it to fit Draco comfortably.

“Miss Granger asked me to take a look at a…specimen her family has acquired,” Severus said.

There was an odd choking noise from the couch, and after a moment he realised that Draco was laughing.

“Knew she’d get you here eventually,” the boy muttered. “Sir…my father…”

“There is nothing I can do for him, Draco. When you do not return to the Dark Lord, he will be furious.”

“He’s a sitting duck in Azkaban,” Narcissa murmured. “The Dark Lord will have him killed.”

“Then I have to go back,” Draco said, struggling to sit up, but Severus pushed the boy back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. Your father would die happy if he knew you were safe. You have been his only priority since the day you were born, and I refuse to allow his hard work to go to waste. Am. I. Clear?”

“Yes sir,” Draco said meekly, and shut his eyes against the pain.

Narcissa smiled at him, and Severus looked away. It was nothing more than the truth anyway. And then two facts made contact in his mind and he spun to face her again, grabbing her shoulder to draw her away from Draco’s semiconscious form.

“Narcissa,” he said urgently. “When he left school, Lucius was working on his Animagus transformation. Do you know if he succeeded?”

“I…I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you now,” she said. “Yes, he’s a mink, but he never told the Dark-“ she cut off as Severus turned away to hide his sudden, ferocious grin.

“Oh, that is _perfect_ ,” he breathed. “Minks are semiaquatic and cold-adapted, he’ll be able to swim – he can do the transformation without a wand, yes?”

“Of course, yes…Severus, what are you saying?” Narcissa caught his hands in hers.

“Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban by transforming into his Animagus form. Send Lucius a Patronus; he needs to get out before the Dark Lord finds out about Draco.”

Narcissa immediately stepped away to cast a Patronus, and Severus knelt by Draco’s side, wiping sweat from his face. The boy tried to smile at him, but it looked more like a grimace of pain.

The door opened and Granger entered, looking pale but determined, and Severus could almost see her magic roiling about her. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was wise for the girl to be using large amounts of magic so soon after their confrontation with the creature, but on the other hand he didn’t know how long Draco’s heart could take the amount of pain he was currently in. The boy could take a solid Crucio, that was true, but this was something else entirely.

Granger was carrying a deep mixing bowl, which she set down next to Severus.

He shifted out of her way without her needing to ask, and she knelt next to Draco, conjuring a kneeling pillow before leaning over the boy and smoothing his hair as tenderly as Narcissa would.

Narcissa had taken a position on the other side of Draco and for a moment they all looked at Granger, waiting for instructions.

The girl’s face twisted up in a grimace of distaste.

“Professor, could you shift behind me? I…last time, with Karkaroff, my father had to hold me down, and it would be better for Draco if the process wasn’t interrupted.”

Severus felt his eyebrows crawling up his face.

“Is the procedure painful for you?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“It hurts quite badly, sir, but it’s mainly the taste. Like rancid bile and foot sweat. Don’t let me stop once I’ve started, okay?” She looked at Narcissa over the table. “And you’ll need to keep Draco quiet, Cissy. It’s going to hurt, probably a lot, but you can’t let him stop me, okay?”

Narcissa nodded and gripped the boy’s uninjured arm fiercely.

“Are you going to explain the procedure?” Severus asked as he settled behind Granger, kneeling with her between his thighs with her back resting against him.

“I’m going to…I’m going to eat the Mark,” she said, and shuddered. “That’s the simple version. The more complicated version is that I’m going to attack him using primal magic, wrap my magic around the Mark parasite, and yank it out. The bowl is for after.”

Well.

Severus didn’t know what to say to that. Was that the only way to remove the damn thing? How had the Grangers known that their little witch would be able to do things like this, and _why_ did the girl keep calling the Mark a parasite?

He was pulled abruptly from his thoughts when Granger took a deep breath and a firm grip on Draco’s arm on either side of the Mark, leaned down, and sank her teeth into the bubbling, infected centre of the thing like she was trying to take a chunk out of him.

Draco screamed, his entire body lifting off the table. His uninjured arm almost lifted off the table until Narcissa put her entire weight into holding it down and, in front of Severus, Granger’s body convulsed and she began to jerk away.

Hating himself for subjecting her to this, he wrapped one arm around her middle and pressed the palm of the other hand to the back of her head, holding her in place.

When he really looked, with the primal sight he usually avoided using, he saw…something amazing. Granger’s magic was the colour of honey, and it spread through Draco’s body in a slow tide, wrapping itself around the dark tendrils that had already begun to spread through his magic. Soon, her magic coated the entire thing, and it began to pull back, extracting the Mark from where it had begun to infiltrate Draco’s magic. Draco’s screams reached a higher, shriller pitch and he began to thrash, and Severus watched as his magic suddenly came alive, a silver-grey flash that wrapped itself around Granger’s magic, helping it to push the dark intruder back.

“It’s working, Granger,” he murmured into her ear, and watched her magic flare even brighter. When the Mark was compressed as much as it could bear, he felt and heard Granger begin to swallow convulsively, every movement almost a heave.

Merciful Merlin, the girl was _actually_ eating the fucking Dark Mark. She was just…sucking it out and swallowing it. He watched, ignoring Draco’s increasingly frantic screams, as the Dark Mark was pushed back tendril by tendril, to be sucked out and swallowed down by the witch in his arms until finally – after what seemed like _years_ but was probably mere minutes – the last trace of greeny-black sewer-smelling magic disappeared.

Severus immediately let the girl sit up, and stared at Draco’s arm while she panted. The Mark was gone, the only sign that anything had ever happened to his arm a set of silvery-white teethmarks, scars that looked months and not seconds old.

He was abruptly recalled to the situation when Granger began to shudder, and was quick with the basin when she began to heave.

He thought she was going to vomit forever, and it was the most foul-smelling thing he’d ever experienced – and as a Potions Master he worked with troll sweat glands nearly every day. The Dark Mark remnants that Granger’s body was rejecting with such impressive vigour smelled worse than anything he’d ever experienced, like the combination of a midden and low tide, with a hint of sewer and a tinge of sulphur. It was black, like the Mark, with a green shimmer like the Morsmorde, and flowed from her mouth in a steady stream while her body heaved.

Abruptly, her body apparently finished expelling the Mark and Granger scrambled to her feet and away from the bowl.

“Kill it!” she shouted hoarsely, and Severus watched in horrified fascination as the leavings in the bowl began to _move_ , extending small dark tendrils up the sides of the bowl.

“Merciful Merlin preserve us,” he breathed as the whatever-it-was began to grow, pulsing and shimmering with a faintly greenish-purple light as it moved from one side of the bowl to another. It was _fascinating,_ but Severus did not feel anything remotely like regret when he cast the strongest Incendio he could manage at the thing, which screamed and writhed and sounded almost human as it died.

When there was silence, except for everyone’s harsh breathing, Severus yanked at his sleeve and stared at his own Mark, wondering just how enmeshed the thing was with his own magic and worse – what it was _doing_ to him while it was there.

He looked at Granger, who was washing out her mouth with her grandfather’s expensive red wine and spitting it into the bowl where the flames still crackled, slowly consuming the creature that had been infesting Draco. The question he’d thought could wait until later had suddenly taken on a vital and _immediate_ importance.

“Granger.” He waited until she looked at him. “What did you mean when you called the Mark a parasite?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for you, Kip!


End file.
